


State of Grace

by FireflysLove



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Babies, Destroy Ending, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Wild theorizing about video game science, background Joker/EDI
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6064128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflysLove/pseuds/FireflysLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six weeks after the Crucible's detonation, Shepard wakes up in a hospital orbiting Earth. Things only get more interesting from there.</p><p>(Established FemShep/Garrus, eventual FemShep/Garrus/Tali. And there will be babies, I just can't promise human-turian babies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After finishing ME3 about a day and a half ago, my muse came flying in and yelled at me until I wrote... this. She's insisting on full OT3 and I'm not arguing. She's also insisting on babies, and I'm looking into that. 
> 
> EDI and the synthetics are also going to come back very quickly. 
> 
> This is my Hope Shepard: Colonist, Sole Survivor, Vanguard. (Who really loves her Paladin pistol)
> 
> There is some discussion of Shepard's injuries after the Crucible detonated, but nothing gory or explicit.

The Sol Relay is the first to be repaired, given that the amassed fleets of the galaxy, or what remain of them anyway, are all stranded in the Sol system until it is operational again. Without the assistance of the synthetic intelligences they have come to rely on, it takes nearly a month before it is up and running again, in twenty hour cycles. An asari ship is the first through the relay, destination: anywhere where the relay might work. It comes out above Tuchanka, the relay wasn’t fractured there, and operates in cycles. They manage to sync the Aralakh relay with Sol’s relay, and per galactic standard day, there are two open periods of approximately five galactic standard hours each day. The next relays to open are Thessia’s and the Widow system’s. There is talk of moving the Citadel back to the Widow system, but not until all the bodies have been removed.

Teams scoured the Citadel in the early days after the Crucible’s detonation, and found that the keepers, without Reaper direction, have stopped harvesting the bodies, and instead are stacking them, as if they don’t know what to do with them. Any identifiable body is sent to its family, and the others are sent to one of several derelict ships until something can be done with them. The wreckage of the Battle of Earth in space is massive, remains of Reaper capital ships scattered about, debris from countless asari and turian fighters blasted out halfway to Mars from Earth. The free-floating geth ships are pulled into high orbit around Uranus by the quarians until the Rannoch relay opens and they can be taken home.

Earth itself is in ruins. Some scientists are surprised that its atmosphere survived the bombardment, while others say that it didn’t, and it will take decades for the weather patterns to return to normal. The first thing the Alliance does is haul all the bodies of the Reapers themselves off-world. From there, they are projected into the sun to be incinerated. Estimates of rebuilding range from decades to centuries, and there is a growing movement to abandon Earth entirely.

The Normandy, the Alliance’s mascot, the leader of the Battle for Earth was flung beyond the mass relay seconds before it collapsed, and it takes her crew nearly two weeks to get her fully functional again. It would have taken half the time with EDI’s assistance, but the AI core is dark, and her body lay slumped over the pilots’ controls when the Normandy crashed onto an unnamed planet. The Normandy’s crew quietly moved the mobile platform away from the pilot’s seat, but they all see the devastating glances that Joker casts to EDI’s chair. They all try to speak to her at least once before they remember.

It takes another two weeks for the relay of the system the Normandy crashed in to come online, and its cycles are short, ten minutes per day. They manage to just slip through and make it back to the Sol system before it shuts down again. The Alliance brass is surprised to see them to say the least. The Normandy had been reported destroyed by the Crucible’s blast. Their first mission: find a way to the Palaven relay. Ashley Williams is put in temporary command of the Normandy, a role she accepts with much hesitation.

The Normandy’s crew doesn’t talk about their losses much; EDI, Legion, Thane, Mordin… Shepard. The memorial wall stands in silent testament to the devastating loss that the war caused them, on a personal level. Garrus refuses to place Shepard’s name on the wall himself, but Ashley does it in the middle of the night, not wanting her friend to go without a grave.

They jump back through the relay to the Widow system, and from there, the route to Palaven is forced open one relay at a time. The planet’s not burning anymore, but it is desolate, with all the turian fleet gone to Earth, and no one left to defend the planet, the Reapers had completed their harvest of the last few turians on the planet before the Crucible’s blast hit. It’s on Palaven, two months after the Battle for Earth that the Reaper’s last fight is discovered.

Turian fleets quickly join the Normandy over their home planet, and ground troops are sent in to discover that the Crucible’s blast, when transferred through this many mass relays, was diminished. The Reapers were crippled, but not killed immediately like those in the Sol system. Their dying bodies lay scattered across Palaven, still commanding hordes of their minions, though their control is slipping. It’s quickly discovered that a single Reaper controls a limited number of troops and that by killing that one Reaper, the troops also die. On Palaven, the troops are mostly marauders, given the bodies that the Reapers had to convert. Killing a dying Reaper is easier than a fully functional one, but it is still difficult. The most expedient way, especially for the one capital ship on the planet, turns out to be bombardment from space. A few of the smaller destroyers are eliminated by tank, but it takes far longer than originally planned. The Normandy leaves Garrus on Palaven to help coordinate Reaper elimination, and then returns to the Sol system. It’s here that Tali makes a shocking discovery.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard's first two months post-Crucible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between handwavery and video game science, I've done the necessary.

Everything hurts. Like a damn space station’s been dropped on her, to be honest. She can’t feel her right hand, her ribs are all either broken or fractured, and she’s pretty sure one of her eyes is gone.

But she’s alive.

Somehow.

The keepers are the ones that find her, likely the only other beings on the Citadel left alive after the Crucible’s detonation. She screams when they move her, but they ignore the sounds, and place her on top of a stack of bodies, as if she were dead herself. Shepard lies there, for an unknown quantity of time, could be minutes, could be days, drifting in and out of consciousness. The Cerberus cybernetics in her body failed with the Crucible, and she can feel her body struggling to not only deal with the massive trauma of being blasted straight to hell and back, but also to compensate for what the Lazarus project had replaced with synthetics.

It’s a mixed team of krogan and asari that find her. She hears them murmuring as they go through the bodies, looking for any identification. When they come to her stack, one of the asari swears, a word Shepard’s only heard Liara use once, right after dropping a heavy crate on her foot. The actual words of the asari’s speech are incomprehensible, her translator gone with most of her hair in the explosion, but Shepard hears her name more than once. It seems like the hardest thing she’s ever done, making even the smallest of noises. The asari repeats the curse, louder this time. She says something to Shepard, but Shepard loses consciousness again.

 

* * *

 

Shepard comes to in much less pain than she had expected, her head cradled by a soft pillow. Blinking slowly against the bright light, she is surprised to see out of _both_ eyes, although the right one seems a little… off. She flexes the fingers of her left hand, then her right… her _right_? She knows that that particular appendage was missing after the explosion, and holds it up in front of her. Sure enough, there is a right hand and forearm. The seam where the prosthetic attaches to her own skin is just below the elbow and nearly invisible, just a faint pink line. She runs her left hand over her face, not surprised to find it a mess of scars and healing lacerations. Her long hair, worn for years in a bun on top of her head, was burned away in the explosion, and it feels like someone cut the burned ends even shorter, the longest parts only brushing her chin.

There’s a faint beeping in the background, and a doctor comes charging in.

“Commander!” he says. “We didn’t expect you to wake up this soon! I’m Dr. Kiresh.

Shepard opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Damn, I was afraid of that. The Cerberus scientist did something to your throat that we haven’t been able to replicate without synthetics,” the doctor says.

Shepard holds up her right hand, eyebrows furrowed.

“Purely mechanical. It’s why there’s no sensation in it. If synthetics ever come back online, there _are_ sensors in there, but god only knows when that will be.”

Shepard narrows her eyes, trying to come up with the best way to communicate what she wants to ask. Finally, she contorts her hand into something resembling a Reaper as best she can.

“The Reapers?” Kiresh asks. At Shepard’s nod, “All the ones in the Sol system died instantly. The further flung ones were crippled, but are being rapidly dealt with.”

Shepard shifts her hand again, this time into an approximate Normandy-shape.

“The Normandy crashed on a planet soon after the detonation, and returned to the Sol system. It is currently over Palaven, at last report,” the doctor says.

They spend the next hour talking, Shepard pantomiming her questions best she can. The Normandy’s crew survived, except for EDI, whose mobile platform is apparently on this very space station. It’s been six weeks since the Crucible, and Shepard’s been in a medically induced coma for five of them. And they haven’t told anyone without classified clearance that she’s alive.

They are interrupted by a ping at the door.

“Sir?” a young man asks.

“Yes?” the doctor replies.

“You asked to be notified when the Normandy docked again,” the man says.

Shepard’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s no way for her to get out of bed.

“I can bring you one crew member,” the doctor says. “Who do you want?”

Shepard thinks for a minute. They probably left Garrus on Palaven. He would stay, throw himself into that work. So, she mimes a helmet over her face.

“The quarian?” the doctor asks.

Shepard nods, and the doctor leaves.

Her chest hurts more than anything else. Like the entire Citadel had been dropped on it, in fact. Kiresh had said that her ribs had all been broken or fractured and that without the help of synthetics it would take months for them to heal. Medigel could only do so much. She pokes at one gently, and hisses at the sharp pain. The sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway, two people quickly approaching. Shepard hears Dr. Kiresh’s voice and a modulated voice reply, but apparently her translator is still out. The footsteps stop outside the door, and Kiresh enters the room alone.

“Your translator was damaged during the explosion, yes?”

Shepard nods, and Kiresh reaches into a pocket of his lab coat. “This is a direct quarian-to-English translator. I’ll see about getting you a new translator, but that’s low on the list for now.”

Shepard blinks slowly in what she hopes will be read as a thank you, and the doctor nods in reply.

“Ms. vas Normandy?” Kiresh calls.

“Technically, it would be Ms. Zorah, but you can call me Tali…” Tali says, stepping into the room, her voice dropping off.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,” Kiresh says, and skates out of the room.

“Shepard?” Tali asks hesitantly.

Shepard spreads her hands.

“How… how… you’re supposed to be dead,” Tali says.

Shepard raises an eyebrow.

“Not that that’s ever stopped you before,” Tali says, then comes to sit in the chair next to Shepard’s bed. “It’s been six weeks and no one’s said anything about you being alive.”

Shepard puts her finger over her mouth.

“I… do not understand,” Tali says.

Shepard sighs silently, then mouths ‘secret’.

“You can’t speak,” Tali says.

Shepard nods emphatically.

“The Normandy just came back from Palaven,” Tali says. “We left Garrus there, he insisted and no one was in an arguing position. We came to pick up a shipment of soldiers to take to Thessia to help with a particularly stubborn band of banshees. And to drop off EDI’s body.”

Shepard’s eyebrows furrow, and she cocks her head.

“Why?” Tali says. “Joker wants it off the ship, says something about respecting the dead.”

Shepard shrugs at that.

Tali’s omni-tool flashes then, an incoming comm message. “Normandy to Tali, come in please.”

“Tali,” Tali says.

“We’re ready to leave,” Specialist Traynor’s voice sounds tinny from this distance. No vid-calls without synthetics.

“I’ll be there in a few moments,” Tali replies.

Kiresh comes back into the room at the end of this conversation and politely waits for Tali to turn her omni-tool off.

“I haven’t received official clearance to reveal that Commander Shepard survived the Crucible yet,” he says with a sigh. “I’m going to have to ask you not to tell anyone, and I do mean _anyone,_ until I can get in contact with Alliance command.”

Tali sighs heavily. “Secrecy never got anyone very far. But I will comply. For now.” Shepard can practically hear the _I have a shotgun_ in her voice. “Shepard, I expect you to be able to talk by the time I come back,” Tali says mock-sternly. Shepard salutes her sarcastically.

 

* * *

 

Over the next three weeks, Tali visits twice, and they come up with a sort of system to communicate, based half on eyebrows and half on rude hand gestures.

On the two month anniversary of the Crucible’s detonation, synthetics come back online. Shepard’s sleeping when it happens, and jerks awake with a scream as the cybernetic implants in her chest take over from her body’s faltering attempts to breath and keep her heart beating. Her arm comes alive with sensation, nothing less than the feeling of waking up after having fallen asleep for a long time, and the optics in her synthetic right eye suddenly sharpen and her vision doubles, then triples as her brain attempts to compensate for the overload of input. She sits up for lack of anything else to do, and her ribs scream in protest.

Shepard’s vision finally clears, and she takes stock of what happened. The quiet thrum she’s gotten used to from her cybernetics is back, and more than that, she can feel the emergency implants against her heart deploying to repair the ribcage immediately above it. Something Cerberus built in to prevent death by crushing, apparently. Her omni-tool, useless until now, spins to life, and she taps the button to respond to an urgent call. It’s not from anyone she was expecting.

“Commander,” a crisp voice comes across.

“EDI?” Shepard says, not even thinking about her lack of speech.

“Correct,” EDI replies. “I am… confused. You were the only person in range of my calling signal.”

“Where are you?” Shepard asks, swinging her legs out of bed. The cybernetics in her knees and ankles are finally working again as well. In for a penny, in for a pound. She sways as she walks toward the door, and supports herself on the wall.

“I appear to be in a… closet,” EDI says. “I am attempting to open the door.”

Shepard stumbles out into the hallway and practically into the door that opens in front of her. EDI catches her as she trips.

“Not far, then,” Shepard says.

“Apparently,” EDI replies. “I am still confused. I remember the Normandy turning from the Crucible’s blast, then everything went dark. Darker than before I became aware.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Shepard says. “That was my fault. I stopped the Reapers, but at the cost of all synthetic intelligence in the universe.”

EDI is silent for a moment. “I understand,” she says finally. “I believe I would have made the same choice.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m supposed to be dead as well,” Shepard says.

“That would explain your wobbling,” EDI says. “You should lie down.”

“My room’s just over there,” Shepard says, gesturing behind her. “Will you help me?”

“Of course,” EDI says. Together they struggle back to the room, and EDI boosts Shepard into the bed.

“How is the Normandy?” Shepard asks.

“I…” EDI starts, then a confused expression crosses her face. “I do not know. My personality subroutines seem to have been downloaded into this platform, but all the necessary functions for maintaining the ship are… absent. Of course, they were stored in the Normandy, so it is quite possible that my program has been split, as it were.”

“Can we put you back together again?” Shepard asks, slightly alarmed.

“I believe so, but this platform will need to interface directly with the Normandy’s AI core,” EDI replies.

“I’m planning to get off this damn space station next time the Normandy docks,” Shepard says.

“Where _are_ we?” EDI asks.

“Orbiting Earth, I believe,” Shepard says. “They took your body off the Normandy. I was not aware they stored you in a closet.”

“It is most undignified,” EDI says.

Shepard snorts. “You can take that up with Alliance command if you want to. Do you think the programs on the Normandy have come back online?”

“In a sort, yes,” EDI says. “I believe that all of my personality is in this body, and the functions stored in the AI core comprise nothing more than a very good ship and cyberwarfare VI. Everything that makes me an AI is here.” She gestures to herself.

The door bursts open then, and Dr. Kiresh stumbles in.

“Synthetics… alive…” he huffs out.

“I can see that,” Shepard drawls.

“What?” Kiresh asks, doing a double-take at EDI.

“This is the Normandy’s AI, EDI,” Shepard says.

“You can talk!” Kiresh says. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Shepard asks.

“The translator that Cerberus implanted is directly synced to your speech. It’s synthetic, so it wouldn’t work unless synthetics came back online.”

“Which they have,” Shepard says.

“Yes,” Kiresh says. “The geth over Uranus are jamming half the comm channels trying to figure out what happened.”

“Wonderful,” Shepard sighs.

“Did you… get out of bed?” Kiresh asks.

“Not very well, but yes,” Shepard says.

“That’s it, I’m making this call myself,” he mutters. “The Normandy’s currently docked in bay 4. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but given recent developments, I’m transferring your case over to Dr. Chakwas. That is… assuming you want to go back to the Normandy.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Shepard says. “When does it leave?”

“Eighteen minutes,” Kiresh says, offering her a pair of pants. “You might want to put these on.”

Shepard, with EDI’s help, struggles into the pants, then a pair of soft boots.

“Can you delay departure?” EDI asks Kiresh.

“I just did,” he says, closing his omni-tool. “Said there was one more shipment of things for Dr. Chakwas. I wasn’t entirely lying. But you should still hurry.”

“Thank you,” Shepard says to him. “From the bottom of my heart, _thank you._ ”

“Thank you, Commander,” Kiresh says, and presses the door open for them.

Stumbling along, more than half carried by EDI, Shepard stumbles toward her tiny flying home.

 

* * *

 

The marines that the Normandy has been sent to pick up are more than a little annoyed by the delay, however small. One of them stands outside, and his eyes widen at the pair of women coming toward him full-tilt.

“You’re the delay?” he asks.

Shepard looks up at him.

“Commander,” he says, snapping to attention.

“We’re the delay,” Shepard confirms. “If you’d open the door?”

He does, and follows closely behind them as they enter the Normandy.

The airlock seals shut behind them, and Shepard hears a tinny version of EDI’s voice from the ceiling say that the Normandy is now clear to depart. The door between the decon chamber and the CIC opens, and EDI and Shepard step onto their ship. People barely glance up from the procedures of de-docking, and no one but the marine seems to have recognized her.

“Commander,” EDI says quietly, “Can we go to the bridge?”

“Of course,” Shepard says.

Tinny-EDI from the ceiling announces that there are “T-minus 32 minutes to the mass relay”.

“That’s an odd sensation,” EDI says. “I imagine it was like that to meet your clone.”

“Probably something like it,” Shepard says, and the door to the bridge slides open.

Joker doesn’t look up from his station, pointing the nose of the ship toward Pluto and the relay.

“VI, how long until the relay’s cycle opens?” he asks.

“Thirty minutes, lieutenant,” tinny-EDI says.

“Guess I’m going to have to park her here for a few minutes,” Joker mutters.

EDI walks Shepard over to the left chair and drops her in it before going to her own station, and taking her seat. At this, Joker _does_ look over. At EDI. An expression of rage crosses his face as she begins to assume some of her tasks back from him.

“What do you think you’re… EDI?” he says.

“Hello, Jeff,” EDI says. “I assume you don’t mind my taking over my station?”

“Of course not… but I… how?” Joker asks.

“All the synthetics decided to come back online today,” Shepard says.

Joker’s head whips around, “You’re not dead, either.”

“No,” Shepard says.

The bridge door opens then, and a very out of breath Tali comes through.

“What the hell, Shepard?” she asks. “We’re telling people now?”

“I only escaped twelve minutes ago!” Shepard replies. “How the hell did you find out?”

“I was with Dr. Chakwas when the file for you came across her screen. She is very confused,” Tali says.

“You knew?” Joker says accusingly.

“About Shepard, yes. But the Alliance brass swore me to secrecy,” Tali says.

“I guess I can forgive you,” Joker mutters, sneaking glances at EDI.

“I am well aware that you are looking at me, Jeff,” EDI says. “We can address that later.”

Joker’s eyes widen. “What are you talking about?”

EDI gives him a significant look. “Would you like me to inform the Commander and Tali about our sex life?”

Joker blushes bright red. “I… no.”

“I thought not,” EDI says, so blandly that Shepard can’t help but bursting into laughter.

She doubles over in pain as her fractured ribs complain under the stress, but she can’t stop laughing. It’s infectious, and soon Tali and Joker are laughing as well.

“It’s good to have you back, Commander,” Joker says.

“I heartily agree,” Shepard says.

The four of them sit there, on the bridge, in their own little world, until the mass relay cycles up, and they go through, destination: the galaxy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wild theorizing about cybernetics, timelines, quarian hair, and what turians smell like. Also, Tali/Shepard gets underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent far too long looking at pictures and fan art of quarians for this. I think I'm half in love with Tali myself.

The relay route they’re forced to follow to their destination means that it takes four times as long to get there as it would have before the Reaper War. Shepard spends the time mostly in the Normandy’s medbay.

Dr. Chakwas is less surprised to see her than Specialist Traynor was, to say the least. (Samantha had nearly had a heart attack, but more at EDI’s reappearance than Shepard’s.) EDI was reintegrating her personality and functionality subroutines with the mobile platform and the ship, occasional odd noises coming from the AI core as Chakwas gives Shepard a thorough examination.

“They did the best they could without synthetic tech,” Chakwas says as she tests the prosthetic arm’s reflexes. “And your implants are compensating for the partially-healed injuries more than I thought they would have. Your file indicates extensive trauma to all your lower leg joints, but the cybernetics have nearly healed all the damage there. It’s your ribs I’m most worried about.”

Shepard grimaces. “As soon as synthetics came back online, I could _feel_ the heart-implants moving to repair the bone.”

“And that’s about the only place where the bone is whole,” Chakwas says. “If you were still in a coma and the synthetics had come back online, I would have probably, well… that’s neither here nor there.”

“Probably what?” Shepard asks.

“Probably have opened your chest up and attempted to bond some of the larger breaks together manually with direct implants rather than relying on the programming of emergency measures by an implant meant to control muscle,” Chakwas says.

“Is there some reason you can’t do that now?” Shepard asks.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t wake up again,” Chakwas says.

“That would… not be good,” Shepard says.

“No,” Chakwas agrees. “So for now we’ll use conventional ossification treatments, and I’ll see if I can come up with anything useful. Although… have you used your biotics since you’ve woken up?”

“I haven’t even thought of it,” Shepard says. “Why?”

“I’ve seen biotics heal at much faster rates than non-biotics when they use their abilities regularly,” Chakwas says.

“I always thought that was just the heavy doses of medigel,” Shepard says. “After a particularly biotics-heavy battle the bruises always healed faster.”

“Catch this,” Chakwas says, and walks to her desk, then throws the datapad at Shepard who catches it in a stasis field. Her chest tightens initially, but relaxes after a few seconds.

She’s still physically weak, five weeks in a coma doesn’t do wonders for muscle atrophy, and the field dissipates much more quickly than Shepard would’ve liked, but Chakwas catches the datapad before it hits the ground, then immediately takes a scan of Shepard’s ribs again.

“Look at this,” she says, holding up her wrist so Shepard can see her omni-tool. Two scans sit side by side and to Shepard’s eye they look the same. “It’s fractional, but there’s just a tiny bit of improvement. Eat regularly, get your strength back up, and a few times a day, have someone throw things at you. Stasis fields are probably safer than moving anything. Oh, and you’re not cleared for combat.”

Shepard laughs at that. “I wasn’t planning on fighting anything. If I never have to fight a Reaper on foot again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Just how many Reapers have you fought on foot?”

“Counting Sovereign? Four. Tuchanka, Rannoch, and London,” Shepard says. “And I had massive help with those. I have been meaning to send a fruit basket to Kalros. Never thought I’d see the day I could imagine being _grateful_ for a thresher maw.” Images come unbidden to her mind, memories of Akuze. She pushes them down, so many lost in the last two decades of her life that most specific faces are lost to the sands of time.

“I’m beginning to think you’re indestructible,” Chakwas says.

“I came to that conclusion after the Reaper on Rannoch,” EDI says from the ceiling. “Shepard and I will last into eternity, ruling the universe together.” There’s an awkward pause, then EDI says, sounding defeated, “That was a joke.”

“Maybe lay off the synthetics ruling the universe jokes for a few years, EDI,” Shepard suggests.

“Of course,” EDI says.

“What’s the date, anyway?” Shepard asks. The days of the war had run together, and although she knew it had been months since the war began, she was never sure of the date. The last time she had been aware of the exact month even was when the Reapers hit Palaven in early October.

“September 18, 2187, by Earth’s calendar,” EDI supplies.

“It’s been an entire year?” Shepard asks, surprised.

“The Reaper War lasted nine months,” Chakwas says. “You didn’t know that?”

“Time got fuzzy after Palaven,” Shepard says. “Everything kind of runs together.”

“Understandably,” Chakwas says. “Now, get out. I’m sure you have a crew to frighten by coming back from the dead again.”

Shepard laughs and walks out of the room, intending to go to her cabin when she stops to ask EDI, “Ashley’s not on board, is she?”

“Lieutenant-Commander Williams is not currently on board,” EDI says. “And she has apparently been sleeping in the port observation deck.”

Shepard takes the elevator up to the Loft, and palms the door control. They slide back, and the soft sounds of the aquarium’s filter meet her. The room smells like a disused room on a spaceship usually smells, reclaimed oxygen staleness and metal. Someone’s obviously been in here to take care of Boo the space hamster and the fish, but other than that, the room is in the same state she left it the morning before London, right down to the rumpled sheets and random clothing strewn on the floor.

She considers stripping the bed, but her ribs think better of the idea. Instead, she kicks the clothes into a pile in the corner to go in the laundry at some point in the future. She takes off most of her clothes, and pulls on a pair of sweatpants before collapsing into the bed. It’s soft, the Alliance hadn’t replaced it during the Normandy’s retrofit, and Cerberus had sprung for a good mattress, nearly swallowing her up. She asks EDI to dim the lights, and pulls the sheets and blanket up over her, covering everything as best she can. The bedding smells different than the room, fabric holding smells better than metal. The sheets still smell like Garrus, a scent that’s something completely alien to Earth. The closest she’s ever been able to describe it is her mother’s chrysanthemums during autumn on Mindoir. They were slightly contraband mums, but Hannah Shepard had insisted, and no one ever complained.

She expects to fall asleep quickly, the day’s been long, and it’s already well into the night-cycle of the ship. Instead, she finds herself staring out the skylight at the passing stars through the blue streaks of the mass effect field. She doesn’t think of anything in particular, just a general sense of malaise, as if something’s very wrong. At one point, the Normandy passes through a relay, and the slight pull of the ship startles her awake again. Finally, she sits up and goes into the bathroom to rinse her face. She rests her hands on the sink’s edge and stares at herself in the mirror.

She still looks like herself, even if she doesn’t really feel like it. The eye they had replaced her right eye with was a nearly perfect match to the bright forest green of the left one. Her hair before the Crucible had nearly brushed her waistband, but now it was a jagged line of burned and cut hair that averaged out to about earlobe-length. It’s a mess though, and if she isn’t going to sleep, she might as well do something about that. There’s a pair of hair shears in the drawer of the bathroom, and she takes them out, the light glinting off them. She’s about to make the first cut when her door beeps.

“Who is it?” Shepard asks EDI.

“Tali,” EDI replies.

“Come in,” Shepard says to the door.

Tali comes in, and bypasses the open bathroom door, peering into the room for Shepard.

“In here,” Shepard says, sticking her head out the bathroom door.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Tali says.

“So did I, but apparently my body decided otherwise,” Shepard says sourly.

“Why do you have knives?” Tali asks warily.

“Oh, these?” Shepard asks, waving her shears. “I was just cutting my hair.”

“It’s so short already,” Tali says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear your hair down.”

“Oh, I’d like not to. Short hair is awful to deal with, gets in your face and everything. But this is all uneven, and if I don’t cut it to an even length, it’s going to look even worse as it grows out,” Shepard says, going back into the bathroom. The hair’s shorter in the back than the front, and she can almost see an A-line bob in the making.

“Do you need any help?” Tali asks hesitantly.

“I would love some help,” Shepard says. “The back’s going to be a pain to do.”

It takes nearly an hour, but between the two of them, they manage to get it into something resembling a normal human hairstyle. It’s much, much shorter than Shepard was hoping she could salvage, but it’s better than the half-burned choppy mess that had been on her head before.

“Do quarians have hair?” Shepard asks after the two of them leave the bathroom to sit on the couch.

“Something like it,” Tali says. She reaches around to the back of her head and pulls her head covering off. “See that bump there?” she asks, gesturing to a swell below the hoses connecting to her helmet. “That’s a bun. Most quarians either shave their heads every time they take their suit off or don’t cut their hair at all, and build extra room into the back of the helmet for it.”

Shepard snorts. “You should’ve seen the first time I cut my hair in front of Garrus. Turians have nerve endings all the way up to the tips of their fringe, and when he saw the scissors come out, he nearly had a heart attack.”

“I can imagine,” Tali says with a chuckle.

Shepard yawns widely and glances toward the bed. “I should probably try to sleep again. Before we get there.”

“Do… do you want me to stay?” Tali asks. “I know when I try to sleep alone, it’s difficult.”

Shepard’s face lights up. “Would you?” she says.

“Of course,” Tali says.

Shepard goes to the bed and stretches, then winces as the action moves her ribs out of place again. “I’ll be glad when those heal.”

“You just want to get back to shooting things,” Tali says.

“And you don’t?” Shepard quips back.

“Oh, I usually bring my shotgun to bed, but just this once I won’t,” Tali says, and Shepard can practically hear her smile.

“I have a Carnifex under each side of the bed if you need one,” Shepard says. “Just don’t shoot me.”

“I haven’t yet!” Tali says.

“There’s always a first for everything,” Shepard says.

“I’m sticking my tongue out at you,” Tali says.

Shepard pulls the blankets up over her chest and fluffs the pillow.

“Good night, Tali,” she says, softer.

“Good night, Shepard,” Tali says.

Shepard falls asleep nearly as soon as her eyes close, and for the first time in months the forest of ashes doesn’t haunt her dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley, James, four dead Reapers, Alliance Command, and an exploding husk make for an eventful day.

It seems somehow fitting that they’re going back to Horizon. The planet’s not nearly as blasted as any of the major homeworlds, but it’s still cratered and crisped around the edges, and not anything close to its name.

Dr. Chakwas approves Shepard to go planetside as long as she agrees to stay only within the safe area of the base of operations. Shepard takes a Carnifex anyway.

“I miss my Paladin,” Shepard mutters as she checks the thermal clip in the gun. “Just the right weight, took down a damn banshee in three clips once.”

“Chatika helped,” Tali says.

“Yes, she did. But I still miss that little gun,” Shepard says.

The shuttle leaves the Normandy, marines in tow, and within twenty minutes, they’re in the landing zone. The marines leave first, and then Shepard and Tali at a much slower pace. Shepard’s wearing a nanoweave garment under her shirt to support her ribs, but moving’s still an iffy proposition. The sun’s low in the sky, they’ve arrived late in the evening, and though it’s Horizon’s summer, night is falling fast.

The marines are assembled in a line in front of a prefab shelter and orders are being given by none other than Ashley Williams.

“This sector’s clear of Reapers and Reaper troops,” she says. “But there’s no guarantee that there won’t be one discovered or that husks won’t move in. There are a _lot_ of husks on this planet. And no shortage of banshees. If you see a banshee, shoot it with the biggest gun you have and run for your life.”

“How many Reapers are left on the planet, ma’am?” one of the marines asks.

“At last orbital scan, eight, all destroyer-class,” Ashley says. “While the Normandy’s here, we’re going to do a few orbital strikes to get that number down.”

“I don’t envy the units going to take down the rest of them on foot,” Shepard says quietly, but evidently loud enough for Ashley to hear her.

Without looking over her shoulder, Ashley says, “Any being who fights a Reaper on foot is incredibly brave and deserves only the highest respect.”

One of the marines bites her lip, as if stifling a smile.

“Is something funny, marine?” Ashley asks.

“No, ma’am,” the marine says, expression sobering immediately.

“I’m not arguing that fighting a Reaper on foot is difficult, Ash,” Shepard says. “That’s why we have gunships.”

Ashley whirls around, mouth open as if to chastise another marine. It immediately snaps shut.

“Shepard?” she says, eyebrows coming together.

“Most of me, anyway,” Shepard says.

“How are you still alive?” Ashley asks.

“Cybernetics and sheer force of will,” Shepard says. “I think the galaxy’s finally stopped trying to kill me, but we’ll see. It hasn’t stuck yet.”

Ashley dismisses the marine squad, who hurry off to the prefab barracks at the center of the encampment.

“I’m guessing you’re why the Normandy hasn’t been in a hurry to come back for a CO?” Ashley asks when they’re sitting around a small table in a kitchen.

“You’re the one who left Joker in charge,” Shepard says.

“He’s qualified, and even without EDI, there’s no way he would do anything that’s not in the best interest of the Normandy,” Ashley says.

“He’s in love with the damn ship,” Shepard says.

“Did… EDI come back with the rest of the synthetics?” Ashley asks.

“Yes,” Shepard says. “In fact, she helped spring me from the damn hospital.”

“You’ve never liked hospitals,” Ashley says.

“Does anyone?”

“No, I suppose not.”

They discuss Ashley’s new command, official now that the Normandy’s in Shepard’s hands again. Waves of husks that don’t stop, one terrifying encounter with a Reaper that turned out not to be dead. There’s a muffled _boom_ in the distance that EDI reports as the Normandy’s cannon taking out one of the grounded Reaper destroyers.

The sound of footsteps on metal catches all of their attention, and they look toward the doorway of the kitchen. A half-scorched James Vega comes through, and it looks like his armor’s seen better days.

“What happened to you?” Ashley asks.

“Jones decided it would be a good idea to bomb the husks,” Vega says. “I tried to convince him otherwise. Shotgun works much better in case you were wondering.”

“Shotguns are always the best choice,” Tali says.

“Hey, Sparks!” Vega says. “Didn’t know you were here. And… Lola? Thought you were supposed to be dead.”

“That was the general impression,” Shepard says.

“Good to have you back among the living,” he says.

“Most of me agrees with you,” Shepard says.

“Did Jones survive his encounter with the husks?” Ashley asks.

James starts laughing, “His eyebrows didn’t, but the rest of him did.”

EDI comms to say that the Normandy has taken out three more of the Reapers on the planet, and that the remaining four aren’t able to be targeted from space.

“It’s better than we had an hour ago,” Ashley says. “How long are you staying?”

“We don’t exactly have another assignment right now,” Shepard says. “I ran out of the hospital and practically stowed away on the Normandy.”

“Commander,” EDI says from Shepard’s omnitool, “if I may, Alliance command has contacted me and requests a conference as soon as you are able.”

“I suppose I’ll have to go to the War Room,” Shepard sighs.

“That is the only place that I am currently able to route the signal to,” EDI says.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” Shepard says.

“Understood,” EDI says, and closes the comm channel.

“Three days out of the hospital and I’m either being shoved back in command or jail,” Shepard says.

“Hero of the galaxy?” James says. “It’s the first one.”

“I just wanted to relax on the beach for a few days,” Shepard says.

“Don’t you hate sand?” Tali asks.

“It was a metaphorical beach,” Shepard retorts.

They’re headed back toward the shuttle when shouts from the edge of camp catch their attention. Not just shouts, but… screeching. Inhuman, blood-curdling screeching.

“Fuck,” Ashley says concisely.

The sound of gunfire erupts across the camp, and Shepard catches sight of the banshee’s biotics flickering as it moves indomitably into the center of the enclosure. It is surrounded by husks, who are wreaking havoc amongst the unarmored bodies of the off-duty marines. Shepard draws her gun and starts firing.

“EDI!” she shouts into her omnitool. “Find the goddamn Reaper that’s controlling these things!”

“It’s the banshee,” EDI says concisely.

“Kill the damn banshee!” Ashley shouts, and reaches into a shelter for a heavy weapon. It’s an arc projector, and she fires it directly into the banshee’s chest.

Husks close on Shepard faster than she’s seen them ever move, or maybe she’s just slower. She backs up and collides with Tali, who is swearing under her breath in Khelish as she shoots with her own pistol. They stop, standing back to back.

“I am never leaving my shotgun on the ship again!” Tali says.

Shepard pulls a husk who gets too close with her biotics, and it explodes, drenching them both in disgusting fluid. She’s down to three shots when the banshee screams a final time and explodes as it dies. The remaining husks drop where they shamble, and are quickly reduced to pulp by the marines who have managed to get their hands on firearms.

“EDI, what the fuck was that?” Shepard asks.

“It seems that when the Reaper nearest you died, it got one final transmission out to that banshee and cut off communication before its death killed the banshee as well,” EDI says.

Shepard swears, colorfully, in more than one language.

“Was that… _krogan_?” James asks, jogging up to them.

“Urdnot Wrex is a very good friend, but he swears like a sailor,” Shepard says.

“Any casualties?” Ashley asks.

“A few husk bites, and someone caught the banshee’s full blast, but nothing fatal,” he says.

“Good,” Ashley says. “We’re going to have to double down on the perimeter, at least for now.”

“I’ll get on it,” James says and hurries away.

Shepard looks after him. “Is that a thing?” she asks Ashley.

Ashley blushes, “Maybe. Nothing serious yet. But maybe.”

“You two would have cute babies,” Tali says.

Ashley blushes even deeper.

 

* * *

 

“I thought I said no combat,” Dr. Chakwas says upon Shepard and Tali’s return to the Normandy.

“They came right into camp,” Shepard says.

Chakwas sighs, then says, “Is all that…husk?”

“They didn’t get close enough to touch me,” Shepard says. “In fact, after a few got ripped apart by biotics, I actually feel _better_ than I did this morning. Aside from the husk in my hair.”

Chakwas shakes her head. “I’ll still need to do a scan later, but you have other duties. Come see me before you go to bed tonight.”

“Yes ma’am,” Shepard says. Then, “EDI, are you still in contact with Alliance Command?”

“I am,” EDI says.

“Tell them I’ll be calling in an hour,” Shepard says. “Don’t tell them it’s because I need to wash husk out of my hair.”

EDI sounds amused as she replies, “Of course, Commander.”

 

* * *

 

It takes six shampoos to get the fluid out, and for once Shepard’s glad for her shorter hair. The clothes are a total loss, and she throws them in the waste reclaimer to be recycled. Finally clean, she pulls on the bottoms of her dress blues, and has the undershirt on over the nanoweave tank top that Chakwas has her wearing whenever she can when the door chimes.

“Come in,” Shepard says.

The door opens, and a very damp quarian steps through.

“This fabric is very washable,” Tali says, gesturing to the headscarf and body wrap. “But I have never had to scrub _that much_ to get something out of it.”

“I don’t want to talk about how long my hair took,” Shepard says.

“At least the rest of my suit just rinsed right off,” Tali says. “I don’t envy you that.”

“Oh, I threw the clothes away,” Shepard says.

Tali gives a surprised laugh, “Oh, that’s perfect.”

Shepard starts to pull on the jacket of her uniform, but the motion causes her to hiss in pain.

“Here, let me,” Tali says, and steps forward, tugging on the collar of the jacket and pulling it up into place and buttoning it down the front.

Shepard freezes. She’s fairly certain that Tali doesn’t know what the usual meaning of putting someone’s uniform on them means for most humans. No idea that it’s usually a duty reserved for the spouse of a soldier being sent off to war.

“Shepard?” Tali says, catching Shepard by surprise.

“What?” Shepard asks, tugging on the hem of the jacket as Tali steps back.

“I asked if you were going to tell them where to put it if they tried to take the Normandy away again,” Tali says.

Shepard laughs, “I don’t think that’s likely to happen, but if they do, I have no compunctions about stealing her a third time.”

“Fourth, if you count the first Normandy,” Tali says.

“My track record speaks for itself, then,” Shepard says.

 

* * *

 

The war room is darker than it was during the war, only the central console lit. Shepard walks past it, into the vid comm room.

“Go ahead, EDI,” she says.

A few seconds later, a very blurry hologram of Admiral Hackett flashes to life.

“Can you clean that up at all, EDI?” Shepard asks.

“Working on it, Commander,” EDI says.

The image becomes fractionally better, and then starts moving.

“-glad to see you back,” Hackett says, obviously finishing a sentence.

“I’m sorry sir,” Shepard says, “We’re having comm issues.”

“Understandably,” Hackett says. “I just said that we had a pool on how long it would take you to break out of the hospital. I didn’t win, sadly.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, sir,” Shepard says with a wry grin.

“We’re having comm issues over here too, so I’ll keep this short,” Hackett says. “We’re going to promote you in the next few months, but for now, we’re transferring command of the Normandy back to you. You have essentially free reign to do whatever you see fit. There will be a few transports we need done, but that’s about it.”

“Lieutenant-Commander Williams will be glad of that,” Shepard says. “And sir… promotion?”

“The populous is insisting we posthumously promote you to admiral,” Hackett says. “Are you ready to come back from the dead again?”

“I was hoping to keep it quiet this time,” Shepard says.

“So were we. We’re not going to confirm or deny any reports of you being alive until you decide to do it yourself. So while the promotion will go through, your assignment is going to still be to the Normandy.” Hackett says.

Shepard feels her heart rise in her chest, “I… thank you, sir,” she says.

“I can’t promise it’ll be permanent, but I’ve seen you in diplomatic situations,” Hackett says. “You usually prefer to punch your way out, so as long as we leave you on the Normandy, you’ll have a valid excuse for it. Besides, we’ve got enough useless old admirals still, one young one out doing the dirty work of the war clean up won’t hurt. And who would take the Normandy, pride of the Alliance, away from her captain, the Savior of the Galaxy.”

“Oh, god,” Shepard says. “Is that what they’re calling me.”

Hackett nods, “Wait until you come back to Earth. There’s already a statue of you in London.”

“I’ll keep the Normandy and leave the statue,” Shepard says.

“I thought as much,” Hackett says. The hologram blurs again. “Looks like we’re getting cut off. I’ll send you the rest of the specifics in writing, but for now, you can tell Williams that her command has been transferred to Horizon, and then to anywhere she sees fit to go, as long as she reports it.”

“Yes, sir,” Shepard says.

“I’d say stay safe, Shepard, but you’re proving to be indestructible,” Hackett says. “Alliance Command out.”

The display flickers out, and Shepard steps back to lean against the wall. Of all the outcomes she had been hoping for, this one was far and above the best one. The Normandy, free run of the galaxy, and no pressure to come back from the dead if she didn’t want to.

She leaves the War Room, and returns to the CIC. Tali’s leaning casually against the railing, talking to Traynor.

“Good news or bad news?” she asks, as Shepard comes up beside them.

“The best news,” Shepard says, and gleefully relates her orders.

“I’m going to go call Ash now,” she says. “Then we’ll see where the galaxy takes us.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tali herself in a tongue battle for dominance. Or, attack of the unexpected femslash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... my muse won't leave me alone? So here, have a bunch of Tali/Shepard? I wasn't expecting it to get quite this intense this early, but if they want to make out, I'm not arguing.

Shepard stood in her bathroom, naked, staring at herself critically. Her hair was still short, it had never grown very fast, and the meds that made hair grow weren’t available nowadays.

The scars from the last months of the Reaper War had finally healed, even if her ribs were still sensitive to most motions. Three ropy scars rippled across her chest, injuries from London and the Crucible that hadn’t been treated with medigel while healing, and took the natural course of human healing. One bisected her abdomen from side to side, following the bottom of her ribcage, one curved neatly under her left breast and ended a few inches below the dip in her collarbones, and the third originated above her left hip and slanted down onto her upper thigh.

There were older, fainter scars under them, the scars from growing up on a colony world, years as a soldier. The precision surgical scars from Cerberus’ reconstruction, their geometry still gave her shivers sometimes. One particularly spectacular scar on the outside of her right leg from where she had once been shot without any armor and no way to medigel, and had to rely on old-fashioned bandages and stitches to suture the wound. Across her back were fans of talon puncture marks, and one set of tooth marks on her left trapezius muscle, side effects of having a turian boyfriend, ones she’d never seemed to get around to putting medigel on. She’d had her facial scars reconstructed because she was a bit vain, but her uniform covered everything else most of the time, so she kept her scars, a physical record of a life lived hard.

There was that one night during the search for the Collectors that she’d let Jack get her drunk in one of the Citadel’s shadier wards, and then take her to a tattoo parlor. It wasn’t like modern tattoos, no, Jack had sat her down and made her get a full needles-and-ink tattoo. She had woken up with a burning pain on her shoulder, and been pleasantly surprised to find nothing offensive there. It was a swallow, in the style of traditional Earth tattoos.

The door chimes, and Shepard turns toward it with a start. She grabs a towel and wraps it around herself, then goes to it and hits the button to open it manually.

“Shepard, I… oh,” Tali says, nearly dropping the two bottles she’s holding.

“Sorry, I was just…” Shepard says.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Tali says. “Keelah, what was I thinking? It’s the middle of the night, you weren’t expecting anyone. I’ll just go.” She turns, and Shepard reaches out with the hand not holding the towel up to catch her arm.

“Tali, it’s alright,” Shepard says. “Come in. I’ll put something on, it’ll only take a sec.”

Tali hesitates, but comes in anyway, and goes to the couch. Shepard grabs a robe, and goes into the bathroom. There’s a pair of clean underwear and shorts on the sink, and she pulls them on, then ties the robe around herself and goes back out.

“Is that alcohol?” she asks.

Tali looks down at the bottles on the table, one blue, one red. “I told you I was going to make you watch Fleet and Flotilla one day after the war,” she says. “I decided I’d bribe you if I had to.”

Shepard laughs. “Any emergency induction ports?”

Tali’s eyes crinkle behind her helmet as she produces a straw and drops it into the blue bottle. Not for the first time, Shepard wishes she had taken a better look on Rannoch when Tali had taken her helmet off. It had seemed inappropriate at the time.

“This for me?” Shepard asks, picking up the red bottle.

“It’s levo, anyway,” Tali says. “I can’t promise it’s good.”

“At this point, I’ve actually got a life-long immunity to dextro food. No nutritional value, but at least it doesn’t give me stomach cramps anymore,” Shepard says.

“How did you get that kind of immunity?” Tali asks. “That takes near constant exposure to dextro food.”

“Dextro fluids in general, actually,” Shepard says, feeling her cheeks heat faintly.

“Fluids?” Tali says. Shepard raises her eyebrows, then Tali half gasps “Oh. I… well…”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” Shepard says.

“You think I’m… cute,” Tali says.

“Oh, I wouldn’t get between you and your shotgun,” Shepard says. “Nerdy, cute, and dangerous.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Tali says.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Shepard says.

“Oh, no, it’s not that at all,” Tali says. “I just never, well, it seems like we’ve known each other for years, and I never thought that you would think of me any particular way, and oh keelah, I’m babbling again, aren’t I?”

Shepard lets her finish, and takes a drink of the (very awful) booze before she replies, “Tali, you’re one of my closest friends. Did you really not think that I actually _liked_ you as a person?”

“I…” Tali sucks on the straw, giving herself time to gather her thoughts. “I’ve always been seen as something else by everyone. The admiral’s daughter, the suit rat, the traitor, and now every time I get a message from the fleet or Rannoch, it seems like I’m their _savior._ No one ever really stops to get to know me, they just heap stereotypes and expectations on me and expect me to follow them.”

Shepard says nothing for a while, fiddling with the tie of her robe, then she looks at Tali, staring straight through the amethyst faceplate, as if she could see straight into her eyes, “That’s exactly how I feel. I can just introduce myself ‘Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy.’ and people have all these things they think I am. I’m pretty sure half the galaxy thinks my first name is actually Commander.”

“I… didn’t realize,” Tali says. “Hope, I…”

“It’s alright, Tali,” Shepard says. “Not many people actually get to know the real me, either. It seems like I could count the living ones on one hand at this point. Most people seem to think it’s too much effort.”

“How could it be too much effort?” Tali asks.

“I’d ask the same thing of people who think you’re some kind of quarian messiah,” Shepard says.

“Messiah?” Tali asks, stringing the word out, her modulated voice fitting around the English syllables.

“Savior, but in a religious sense,” Shepard says.

“Ah,” Tali says. “I am not one of those.”

“Neither am I,” Shepard says.

Two hours later, they’re both spectacularly smashed, and Fleet and Flotilla is over, complete with Tali’s singalong.

Shepard’s stomach and ribs ache dully from all the laughter, and she can feel the alcohol being quickly burned off by her biotics and cybernetics both.

“That was… an experience,” Shepard says.

“I loved that vid as a child,” Tali says, her voice surprisingly steady for the amount of alcohol that she’s consumed.

“It certainly is romantic,” Shepard says.

“Well, if you have a turian thing,” Tali says dismissively, tilting her eyes at Shepard.

“Oh, I don’t think anyone in this room has a turian thing,” Shepard says. “Nope, no way.”

“Of course not,” Tali says.

Shepard squints at her, then cocks her head. “How much of the party before the battle for Earth do you remember?” she asks.

“I was significantly drunk for most of it,” Tali says. “I believe I was passed out on the bathroom floor?”

“Hmm, yes,” Shepard says. Tali spectacularly drunk is an amusing sight, quarians are not known for their ability to hold liquor. But one comment drunk Tali had made had stuck in Shepard’s mind over the past few months, nothing she ever would have said if she were sober.

“I say some very stupid things when I’m that drunk,” Tali says.

“But do you ever say things that aren’t true?” Shepard counters.

Tali hesitates, and Shepard thinks she knows what Shepard is trying to get at. Quietly, “No.” Then she pushes off the couch and starts pacing the room, babbling under her breath to herself.

“Tali,” Shepard finally says, catching her hand on a near pass.

Tali rocks to a stop and looks down at Shepard.

“Sit down,” Shepard says, and pats the seat cushion next to her. Tali sits, perched on the edge of the couch, as if she’s ready to bolt again. “Relax.” Her shoulders droop a little bit.

“Do you think I’d bring it up for no reason?” Shepard asks.

Tali starts. “I… I don’t… I’ve… never… I…”

“We talked about it a few times, Garrus and I,” Shepard says. “After Rannoch and before Earth. It’s hard not to notice when someone you work closely with has, well, a rather large crush on you. Especially both of you.”

“Oh, keelah,” Tali says, and leans away from Shepard.

“At the time, in the middle of the war, it never seemed the right time to talk to _you_ about it, so we left it alone. Of course, neither of us were really sure of what quarians think of polyamory either, but…” Shepard says.

Tali turns to look at her. “You…don’t hate me?”

Shepard blinks once, confused, then reaches forward to cup Tali’s face, her helmet, in a hand. “Of course not. How could I hate you?”

“I’m in love with you and your lover,” Tali says. “Most people don’t take that well.”

“I’m Commander fucking Shepard,” Shepard says. “I’m not most people. Most people are way overrated.”

The first part of her statement shocks a laugh out of Tali. “You wondered what quarians thought of polyamory. It’s not usually done, because of the closeness of quarters, but there’s no taboo against it.”

“It’s a dicey subject with humans, especially the religious ones,” Shepard says. “But no qualms here.”

“Good,” Tali says. “I… you never finished saying…”

“What Garrus and I talked about?” Shepard says. “We agreed that if we all survived the war, we’d talk with you about it. And made an agreement that if either of us died, the other one had a blessing to pursue a relationship with you if you actually did want one.”

Tali makes a strange noise, one Shepard’s not sure she’s ever heard from the quarian before.

“Sometimes I really hate this damn suit,” Tali says. “Half the time, I think people are missing most of what I say because they can’t see my expression. No one but the Fleet doctors have seen my face since I was a child. It gets difficult to make sure I’m understood, sometimes.”

“But you also don’t die,” Shepard counters.

“But I also don’t die,” Tali agrees. “However… I’d… like to adapt to your environment. And I need you to see me when I say this.” She says this, reaching up for the magseals on her helmet. She releases the clamps, and gently pulls on the faceplate, setting it down on the table in front of her, then pulls off the mouthpiece and places it next to the faceplate.

She stares at Shepard then, barefaced in front of someone for the first time in years, waiting for her to say something.

Shepard softly inhales at the sight of the face before her. She’s pictured quarian faces for years. Holos and vids are very hard to find, so she’d only had a passing glimpse of what Tali might look like. It’s nothing quite compared to the real thing though.

Tali’s surprisingly human looking, considering the variation in life in the galaxy. Fine wisps of soft dark hair trail out of the back of the helmet, falling over a strongly heart-shaped face. Her nose is delicate and tip-tilted, and a blush is slowly rising in her high cheekbones. Grey-violet skin with a spangling of cybernetic implants over her forehead flushes darker purple, nearly obscuring the two markings that rise into her hairline from her eyebrows. Her lips are human shaped, and when she opens her mouth to say something, her teeth are small and flat, as well. But it’s her eyes that capture most of Shepard’s attention. Shepard’s always wondered whether it was a cybernetic implant that gave quarian eyes the luminosity through the smoky faceplate, but Tali’s eyes have a natural phosphorescence, wide violet pupils surrounded by softly glowing golden pupils.

“Holy shit,” Shepard says under her breath. If there were ever any doubt that she had fallen in love with Tali, it was well and truly extinguished now.

“Shepard,” Tali asks, her voice surprisingly quiet without the modulation.

“Tali,” Shepard says, then reaches her hand up, asking silently.

Tali leans her face into Shepard’s palm and shivers, closing her eyes. After a few seconds she opens them again, and looks Shepard straight in the eye. “I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too,” Shepard says.

Tali bites her lip, and scrunches her eyes. If she were human, Shepard would say she was biting back tears, but… nope, tears leak from the corner of her eyes, and she sniffs, scrubbing them away.

“You can probably understand why seeing someone’s face is a great act of trust in quarian culture,” Tali says. “I’ve never really wanted anyone else to see my face. Not before the two of you.”

“I know we need to wait to have this conversation with Garrus as well,” Shepard says. “God knows I need to tell him I’m still goddamn _alive_ , but I’ll be damned if I don’t ask… can I kiss you?”

“I’m going to have a sinus infection from this, anyway,” Tali says. “I might as well make the most of it while I’ve got my helmet open.” With that, she swings her leg over Shepard’s lap, and puts her hands on Shepard’s shoulders. “I’ve never done this before,” she says.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve kissed anyone with actual lips, so I think we’re even there,” Shepard says.

Tali rests her forehead against Shepard’s, the gesture comforting no matter the species. Shepard shifts her face to bump her nose against Tali’s, then gently catches her lips in a soft, chaste kiss. Tali shudders, being isolated in a suit’s made her very sensitive to touch. She makes the second move, pressing a little harder against Shepard’s lips this time. Shepard responds in kind, moving her hands to Tali’s hips, anchoring her in place. Tali’s tongue darts out, pressing against Shepard’s, and it finds its way in, where the human’s meets it, and she finds herself in a tongue battle for dominance.

Tali pulls back, to catch her breath. “You taste sweet,” she murmurs.

“It’s the levo,” Shepard says. “Dextro’s always salty and not quite bitter.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” Tali asks.

“I happen to like the taste of dextro, so take that how you will,” Shepard says.

Tali can feel the fluid starting to fill her sinuses, and she knows it’s time to put the helmet back on, to let the envirosuit do its work, but it’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done. She steals one more gentle kiss from Shepard before she leans back with a heavy sigh, and slides the two pieces back into place.

“I’ll be very glad when I get accustomed to you,” she says.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Shepard says.

“No,” Tali says. “But this also wasn’t exactly how I was planning on this evening going.”

“No complaints here,” Shepard says.

“None here, either. Now,” Tali catches herself yawning, “I’m sleeping in your bed tonight. Would you like to join me?”

Shepard smiles, “Just let me get a shirt.” She pulls one out of the drawer, turns away, and drops the robe off her shoulders. The modulated gasp is worth the short shock of cold in the air, and she smirks as she pulls the shirt over her head.

“EDI, turn down the lights?”

The lights dim down so only the fish tank is illuminating the room, and Shepard climbs under the blankets. She finds quickly that she’s suddenly grown a quarian octopus in her bed,

“You’re never getting rid of me now,” Tali says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shepard says.

“No, I’d rather you dreamt of me in other ways.”

“Goodnight, Tali,” Shepard says.

Tali doesn’t reply, only a soft modulated snore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rannoch in the springtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> *I've made up some nice Khelish/quarian words here because I'm a massive linguistics nerd.  
> *More wild theorizing about quarian biology

“The sun’s brighter here than it is on Earth,” Tali says.

“You haven’t been on Earth when there were no Reaper-induced clouds,” Shepard replies. “It’s the same brightness.”

“The faceplate probably also has something to do with it,” Tali replies, tilting her head toward Shepard, luminescent eyes glowing even brighter in the noonday Rannoch light.

“Why _is_ it purple, anyway?” Shepard asks.

“Personal preference. Quarians see light shifted a little down the EM spectrum from most sentient life. I see things far more into what you call the ultraviolet range. The purple shifts the galaxy’s red tones down the spectrum and makes them easier to see,” Tali says. “Some think the yellow faceplates make it easier to see. I don’t.”

The geth the collective had left on the planet with the quarian non-combatants during the Battle for Earth have already harvested the corpse of the Reaper for all its useful parts. The rest of the body is being quickly overgrown by the lush oceanside vegetation. Rannoch is living up to its name, _walled garden_. Shepard and Tali are standing on the cliffs overlooking the Reaper-garden.

“How close to that thing do you want to get?” Shepard asks, eyeing the corpse nervously.

“It had the gall to die on the best spot,” Tali says. “But I think… there.” She points to a spot of flat land half the Reaper’s bodylength away from it.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Shepard asks.

“That’s why you love me,” Tali says. “Come on, let’s go see how the view is from down there.”

The view turns out to be even better. The Reaper provides a windbreak, and Shepard sits down on a rock while Tali takes scans by the dozen with her omnitool.

“I don’t want anything prefab,” she says, muttering to herself. “I’ll build the damn thing by hand if I have to.”

Half an hour later, Shepard and Tali take the light flyer they had used to get out to the cliffs back to the quarian basecamp. They’ve called it Rashon, a Khelish word that means _first_. The geth have used parts from derelict ships amongst both fleets to erect shelters. There are already even a few permanent buildings, one of which is the hospital, divided up into many small clean rooms. Tali seals her faceplate back into her helmet just before they land. Tali’s rapidly becoming adapted to Shepard’s biology, and it is mostly safe for her to walk around helmetless in the unpopulated sections of Rannoch, but anywhere close quarters or enclosed is a breeding ground for quarian illnesses. So she puts her helmet back on.

It’s been six weeks since they left Horizon, and four since the Rannoch relay was opened. The Normandy was called away on another transport mission, but Shepard stayed behind to help the quarians deal with the aftermath of the geth becoming functional again. Tali parks the ship alongside four others of its kind, and they step out.

The first thing they hear is loud modulated shouting. A quarian is standing with their hands on their hips, yelling at a geth prime.

“Bram’Jekah!” Tali snaps. “What is the problem?”

“It wants me to give it all of my self-sealing stem bolts!” Bram’Jekah says.

“Creator-Admiral Zorah,” the geth says. “I only wish to place the stem bolts into the hospital’s superstructure.”

“Did you tell him that?” Tali asks.

“I have attempted to several times, but Creator Jekah continually interrupts me,” the geth says, sounding almost sad.

Tali sighs heavily and drags her hand over her faceplate. “Bram, we have to cooperate with the geth. They’re the reason we’re years ahead of where we thought we would be. Give them the damn stem bolts.”

Bram’Jekah makes a quarian noise that Shepard’s learned means disgust, but says. “Yes, Admiral.” before stalking off.

“If he gives you anymore trouble, come see me,” Tali says to the geth. They nod, and their headflaps move in a gesture Shepard had learned from Legion meant thankfulness.

Tali scoffs as they walk toward the city center, “It’s always a few outliers, isn’t it?”

“That’s how Cerberus got started,” Shepard says.

“I’m worried we’re going to have something like that,” Tali says. “Especially since half the population is in space and half’s planetside.”

“You’ll just have to deal with it when it comes,” Shepard says.

“I know, and that’s what worries me the most,” Tali says.

 

* * *

 

The words turn out to be more prophetic than either of them had expected.

Quarians measure time by sixdays and a day by the length of Rannoch’s rotation, even after they had been exiled to the Fleet. This added up to a length of time approximately 190 Earth hours long, or eight days.

It’s less than a sixday after Tali picks out the place for her house that the dissident quarian faction strikes. It starts as an explosion in a geth collective core just outside Rashon. Half the geth in the city stumble as their platforms are flooded with consciousnesses fleeing the core. A few moments later, three geth fighters tumble out of orbit and burn up in atmo as their propulsion systems are remotely overloaded. Then the entire city is overloaded with a wild crackling noise that ripples through all the systems and the suits of the quarian populace.

Shepard’s own synthetics momentarily reverse polarity and give her a nasty shock.

“What the hell was that?” she spits out, coming out from the small bedroom in the prefab structure she’s sharing with Tali.

Tali cocks her head to the side, and says, in Khelish, “What?”

Shepard repeats herself, and Tali shakes her head again. Shepard taps the translator implant just below her left ear, attempting to switch it on, to no effect.

“What…goes?” Shepard tries in halting Khelish.

“My suit’s comms are down,” Tali says. “You speak Khelish?”

“Understand,” Shepard says. “More than say.”

“I have a bad feeling that this is those dissident factions,” Tali says.

Shepard screws her eyebrows together then, “Boom?”

“The Admiralty has a protocol to meet at the central hospital if something like this happens,” Tali says.

They go there, and there’s a crowd of loudly shouting quarians, and Tali pushes through them to get to the central platform. Shepard stands at the foot of it, and Tali quickly confers with the other admirals.

“If anyone wants to claim responsibility for this heinous action right now, you will not be exiled or executed,” one of them says.

Three male quarians step forward, all with red faceplates and red cloth tied around their upper arms.

“We are Skhror,” one of them says.

“You’re a bunch of bosh’tets,” Tali says. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“We are taking back the quarian homeworld,” the same one says.

“It’s also the geth homeworld,” Tali replies.

“Not by any choice of ours,” the quarian says, and turns his face toward Shepard, body language hostile.

“You rather be Mikitzrah-food?” Shepard asks, using the Khelish word for Reaper, which translated as something like _snatcher_ or _plunderer_.

“The Mikitzrah were never a threat until you brought them to the galaxy,” the quarian sneers. The entire crowd gasps at that.

Shepard steps forward and grabs the quarian by the throat. He’s a big quarian, but she’s still bigger than him.

“Come see my homeworld,” she says very quietly. “Then say I brought Mikitzrah.”

He struggles in her grip, and she drops him the six inches back to the ground. The crowd is quiet after that.

“Does anyone else wish to argue with Commander Shepard?” Shala’Raan says.

There are murmurs of negatives throughout the crowd.

“I thought not,” she says. “Any person who has had their geth programs flushed by this terrorist attack should report to the core beside the food storage building in the next few days. Anyone who is associated with this Skhror is urged to stop your affiliation immediately, as any further actions will be judged as treason and tried as such. And we really have better things to do than kill quarians at this point. Now, please, get back to work. Those of you who are geth experts should stay behind.”

The crowd disperses, and a small group stays behind

Shepard returns to her room, and spends a few hours cleaning her guns when the translator suddenly crackles, and pain shoots up her scalp. She opens her omnitool, and dials Tali.

“I was just about to call you,” Tali says.

“I think the translator’s working again,” Shepard says in English.

“It is,” Tali says.

“Oh, good. Do you want to get something to eat?” Shepard asks.

“Nutrient paste and a levo MRE?” Tali says with some amusement. That’s about all there is to eat planetside.

“We can put garum on it,” Shepard says. It’s a turian sauce, and it tastes something like Worcestershire sauce, but it’s about the only thing this side of the galaxy that can make an Alliance MRE edible.

“You and fish sauce,” Tali says, shaking her head.

“You love me anyway,” Shepard says.

Tali cuts the transmission off, but Shepard knows she’s rolling her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, the Normandy returns.

“I can’t go with you this time,” Tali says. “Between the geth and Skhror…”

“I understand,” Shepard says. “Call me as soon as you can come back.”

“Absolutely,” Tali says.

Shepard hugs her, and then goes to the shuttle.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she says.

“Not if I find you first,” Tali replies.

The shuttle door shuts, and the engines roar to life.

“Admiral Hackett’s on vidcomm when you get back to the ship, Commander,” EDI says.

Rannoch’s been a nice place to recover, but it’s time to get back to the greater galaxy and duty.

Shepard sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can almost guarantee a Garrus sighting next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Citadel goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was wrong, no Garrus, because people continue to be asses. 
> 
> (Also, I very much recommend listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Akb2hyw1aNg) when the Citadel gets towed home.)

Taking the Citadel home is a bigger challenge than any of the Alliance brass had originally thought it was going to be. The first priority had been getting the mass relays open, then clearing the major homeworlds of Reapers, a task that was now well into its final stages. Sur’Kesh and Tuchanka were the first to be cleared after Earth, given that they had no major Reaper invasion in the first place. Thessia’s reclamation is going much faster than anyone had anticipated, some say due to the amount of eezo in the atmosphere amplifying the Crucible’s effect to near-Sol system levels. Palaven is the last stronghold of Reaper troops. The planet had been heavily occupied by Reapers in the first place, and the Reaper forces are seemingly refusing to die, much in the same way the banshee on Horizon had taken control of the troops from the dying Reaper, on Palaven marauders are leading troops of husks and brutes.

And Shepard’s pissed.

It’s been five months since the Crucible’s detonation, and she hasn’t heard a word from Garrus. At first, she’d thought it was because of the comm buoys being down, but as they were restored, during the month on Rannoch, not a damn peep. So she calls the primarch.

He’s not surprised to see her alive, apparently most of the upper government officials in the Council races had been told of her survival, but he is surprised to hear her asking after Garrus.

“He’s on Palaven trying to eliminate the last Reaper capital ship,” Victus says.

“There are communications open with Palaven, right?” Shepard asks.

“Yes,” Victus says. “Which is why I’m confused. Give me a few moments, and I’ll put you through to the squad leader, Erastus Allous.”

The line goes staticky and then clears to reveal the face and upper armor of a male turian.

“What do you want?” he barks.

“To know why Garrus Vakarian hasn’t contacted me in the past three months,” Shepard replies just as harshly.

“That’s none of your damn business,” Allous says.

“I’d beg to differ,” Shepard replies, gritting her teeth.

Allous rolls his eyes, giving the classic _let’s indulge the silly human_ look. “I decided it would be best for him if he was solely focused on the mission at hand and not worrying over whether you might or might not be recovering. I don’t need my soldiers distracted Commander. Now, if you don’t mind, I have actual work to do.” With that, he cuts the comm line and Primarch Victus’ face flashes back on the screen.

Shepard picks her jaw up off the floor, but can’t think of anything to say.

Victus makes a frustrated noise. “Allous always was one for taking the rules too far,” he mutters. “For one thing, Vakarian technically outranks him, it was just a courtesy that he agreed to serve under Allous. But there’s nothing I can do until the mission is up, which is projected to take another month at least.”

Shepard grits her teeth, “Can I at least kick Allous’ ass?”

“Oh, you’re more than within your rights to do that,” Victus says, mandibles spreading in what Shepard’s pretty sure is a sadistic grin. “By ancient turian law it’s illegal to come between a turian and their claimed mate. And given that bite mark on your shoulder, you fall under that category. So technically you could actually kill him if you were so inclined.”

Shepard twitches an eyebrow at that, “I don’t think I’ll go quite that far.”

“Just make sure you send me a vid,” Victus says.

“Really?” Shepard asks.

“Nothing I can say officially,” Victus says.

“Of course,” Shepard says.

“Until next time, Commander,” Victus says, and cuts the comm line.

Shepard scrubs a hand across her face and turns away from the comm station when it dings again, this time from Alliance command. She answers it immediately, and Admiral Hackett’s body shimmers into the frame.

“Commander,” he says.

“Admiral.”

“The Citadel’s finally ready to go back to the Widow system,” Hackett says.

“It’s about damn time,” Shepard says.

Hackett harumphs. “I agree with you, but some say it’s too soon, that we should leave it as a memorial.”

“Orbiting Earth?” Shepard asks.

“In a decaying orbit, no less,” Hackett says. “But it’s currently being towed to the Sol relay, and the gathered fleets want the Normandy to lead the parade.”

“Of course they do,” Shepard sighs.

“They want the _Normandy_ to lead the fleet. Most of them still don’t know you’re alive, and none of us are going to tell them,” Hackett says.

“EDI, how long to get to the Sol relay?” Shepard asks the ceiling.

“Twenty minutes, Commander,” EDI replies.

“We’ll be right there,” Shepard says.

“I look forward to it, Commander,” Hackett says. “Hackett out.”

The comm line closes again, and Shepard goes up to the bridge, sits down next to Joker.

 

* * *

 

The Sol relay flashes bright before them as the Normandy comes back into the Sol system. The Citadel, arms closed tightly once again, is sitting in the middle of a mixed fleet a few hundred kilometers away from Pluto. Three dreadnoughts, including the Destiny Ascension, have harnessed their mass effect fields around it. Blue-black lights flicker along its hull, brighter than even Sol at this distance.

“Commander, there is an incoming transmission,” EDI says.

“Play it,” Shepard replies.

“Welcome home, Normandy,” a human voice says. “We’re ready to move the Citadel whenever you’re ready.”

Joker turns the ship around, nose pointed back toward the relay.

“Let’s go,” Shepard says, a warm feeling building in her stomach.

“Transmitting coordinates to the fleet,” Joker says.

The Normandy is the first toward the relay, and the rings around the eezo core spin slightly faster as it makes the jump through. They enter the system of the partner relay, and then to the Widow system itself.

The Citadel’s sister relay isn’t far from the Citadel’s own location, and as the three dreadnoughts pull the station through the relay, the clouds of the Serpent Nebula seem to part, as if welcoming the Citadel home.

It takes a few minutes consulting navigational charts to get the Citadel aligned in its former location. A signal is sent through the fleet, and then the arms flower open. Far past their normal aperture, nearly flat. There, in the center, is the Crucible. An Alliance dreadnought moves in, and the Crucible is disengaged, pulling back with the dreadnought.

Another signal comes through the comm lines, this one Hackett’s voice. “Thank you to everyone who has helped get the Citadel home. We have years of work ahead of us, but this puts us one big step closer to rebuilding. From here we will disband, but never forget the moment when the galaxy came together to defeat the Reapers, _and won_.”

Cheers sound through the comms, all the gathered races of the galaxy for one last great hurrah.

And then they begin to leave, the greatest fleet the galaxy has ever known dispersing to rebuild the shattered remains of their lives.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospitals and irritated turians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter started getting monstrous. Yep. This is the first half of what was GOING to be the chapter where Garrus comes back, but instead they're insisting on TALKING, so that's going to be the next chapter. It's already mostly written.

“Come on, Lola, hit me,” James Vega taunts.

They’re in the Normandy’s cargo bay, and Shepard is currently attempting to beat the shit out of him. It’s been six months since the Crucible, and Dr. Chakwas has finally cleared her for full duties. The only remaining injury is a stubborn and complicated fracture of one of her ribs that is currently being held together by a synthetic clamp until Chakwas can come up with something to do with it.

So Shepard hits him, center mass. It does almost nothing. Despite her biotic-and-synthetic enhanced strength, Vega’s a hulkingly huge human being, and he does little more than rock back on his heels for effect. Not quite an immovable object, but close to it.

“You can do better than that,” he says.

She can, and so she sends a biotic push into the same spot that sends him stumbling back, then follows it with a kick directed at his head. Her left ankle, the one supporting all her weight, twists under her, and she collapses on top of it, shooting pains going up her calf.

“That was a dirty trick,” Vega says, then notices her collapsed on the floor. “Lola, you alright?”

“That shouldn’t have twisted my ankle,” Shepard says, and takes the hand Vega offers.

She uses her right foot to get up, then tests her weight on the left one, and it is completely loose, she can barely even wiggle her toes.

“Well shit,” she says. “EDI, can you ask Dr. Chakwas to come down here?”

“Of course, Commander,” EDI replies.

A few minutes later, the good doctor is poking suspiciously at Shepard’s ankle.

“The implant’s come unmoored,” she finally pronounces. “I don’t know why, but it’s popped eight of the fourteen moorings. I could try to fix it, but I’m fifty/fifty on whether I would miss something. We need Cerberus’ original records or it needs to be replaced entirely.”

“Cerberus’ records were probably wiped long ago, or are otherwise in the hands of some secret Alliance division,” Shepard says.

“That’s what I thought,” Chakwas says. “Unless you can contact Ms. Lawson…”

Shepard shakes her head at that. “Miranda is busy rebuilding more important things than my ankle.”

“Replacing it, then. We’re going to have to go to Thessia or Sur’Kesh. They’re the only places with medical facilities advanced enough for this. If I had the right parts we could do it here, but the entire thing is going to need to be made from scratch,” Chakwas says.

“Actually, Doctor,” EDI interrupts, “Several of the hospital stations orbiting Palaven are better equipped to deal with such a problem.”

“Well then let’s go there,” Chakwas says.

“And maybe I can settle a score,” Shepard mutters. “Two birds, one spaceship.”

 

* * *

 

The surgery is longer than Chakwas had originally anticipated, and it’s nearly six days later when Shepard’s finally back on her feet.

“Now walk to the end of the room and back,” Chakwas says, examining the joint critically.

Shepard does so, and then to the end of the hallway.

“Jump,” Chakwas instructs, then any number of contortions. “Now, I want you to put your pants back on, and go for a run. If anything feels off, call me immediately.”

“Barefoot?” Shepard asks.

Chakwas nods. “You should hold together just fine.”

“If you say so,” Shepard says. In truth, the new implant feels sturdier than the old one ever did, and Shepard does a few stretches to warm up the rest of her muscles before pelting off into the bowels of the hospital.

It’s strong, and she nearly bounces herself into a bulkhead a few times until her stride compensates for the increased stability. Four billion credit reconstruction indeed.

She’s just about to head back when a movement in room on an otherwise deserted floor catches her eye. She cautiously peers through the window, and finds herself face-to-face with Adrien Victus. His mandibles widen in surprise, then he gestures to someone in the room and the door slides open.

Shepard steps inside to a room full of turians.

“Just the human I was looking for,” he says.

“Sir?” Shepard says.

“We’ve nearly reached the end of Reaper operations on Palaven, and there’s only one semi-active Reaper left. As you’re aware, a small team of turians has been working for six months to attempt to disable this one, but for some reason they have been unable to. So we’re moving to evacuate them,” Victus says.

“And then what? Drop a big ass bomb on it?” Shepard asks.

Victus’ mandibles twitch toward a smile at the human expression, “Well, yes.”

“And you need me to…” Shepard says.

“Since you have a vested interest in certain turians in the squad and it is, of course, our greatest hope to form positive relationships with the Alliance, we have decided to ask the Normandy to lead the evacuation efforts,” Victus says. Turian subvocals are on the edges of Shepard’s hearing, but his read bitingly sarcastic.

“Would you still like a vid, sir?” Shepard asks.

“Of what?” Victus asks.

“Of course,” Shepard says. “Have your people transmit coordinates to EDI.”

“They’ll be there within the hour, Commander.”

She takes that as a dismissal, and runs back to the room where Chakwas is waiting.

“Well that took you a long time,” she says.

“I had a most enlightening conversation,” Shepard says.

“I suppose it involves combat,” Chakwas sighs.

“Possibly,” Shepard says.

“Well, you’re cleared, but _do_ be careful with that rib,” she says.

“You’ll be the first to know if something happens to it,” Shepard promises.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

 

* * *

 

The armor Shepard was issued after she came back active duty is lighter than her old armor. Just as strong, but easier to move in. She buckles it on over a surprisingly loose fitting underarmor jumpsuit. She’s chosen EDI and Vega to accompany her on this mission, given the dearth of combat-ready people on the Normandy at the moment.

Vega whistles at the armor, the first time he’s really seen it. “Shiny,” he says.

Shepard rolls her eyes, “Everything has to have a maiden voyage. I just wish I had a good gun to go with it.” The standard-issue Carnifex strapped to her lower back next to her SMG is a good gun, but nothing like the Paladin she lost in London. She mourns its loss daily.

“Your suit air-tight?” she asks.

“Just checked it yesterday. No radiation poisoning for me,” Vega says.

“Survive Reapers just to be taken out by a damn sun,” Shepard says. “Not bloody likely. EDI, the solar radiation going to affect you?”

“According to my calculations, it would take approximately seven hundred years in direct constant sunlight for Palaven’s radiation to affect my systems in any notable capacity,” EDI says. “I will endeavor that our mission not take that long.”

Shepard snorts, “If it takes that long, we’ve got more than just solar radiation to worry about.”

“Indeed, Commander,” EDI says.

“Everyone in the shuttle,” Cortez says, coming around the front of the Kodiak. He’s wearing a much lighter version of an enviro-suit, essentially just a radiation-proof jumpsuit and a light helmet.

They pile in, and the shuttle drops out of the Normandy’s shuttle bay into Palaven’s atmosphere. According to Victus’ brief, Commandant Allous has not been warned that they are coming, as he has cut off all contact with the Hierarchy under the guise of “confidentiality”. The subtext, then, Shepard had gathered, was that this was far more than an extraction mission.

They land in a flat plain just to the west of the camp, and the squadron must have seen them. The Kodiak is not a subtle vehicle. A lone turian approaches the shuttle with his gun raised.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Evac mission,” Shepard replies as the shuttle relaunches back into space. “Primarch’s orders.”

The turian lowers his weapon, “Thank the spirits. It’s about damn time. It’s not going to be easy, though.”

“Why?” Shepard asks.

“The unit’s spread fifteen kilometers in either direction from the camp, some of the snipers have gone even further. The Commandant seems to think we can pick off the massive army of marauders one at a time,” he says.

“That’s what the bomb’s for,” Shepard says. “They’ve decided to sacrifice the whole area to get rid of the Reaper.”

“Worth it,” the turian says. “Wasn’t very productive before the Reapers anyway.”

“Can you call your men back in?” Shepard asks.

“Most of them, but at the end of each of the lines is a sniper on a different frequency, ‘for safety’ Allous claims,” says the turian.

“Lost faith in your commander?” Shepard asks.

“Of course not,” the turian says, subharmonics dripping with sarcasm. “That would be unturian of me.”

“Lucky for you, none of us are turians,” Shepard says.

“I’ll put out the call immediately,” the turian says. He leads them into the camp where they get a few odd looks from the unit, but no one says anything. He directs them to wait outside a shelter, then goes inside.

A few minutes later he emerges, a sour expression on his face. “The regulars are coming back in. They should all be here by dawn. But someone’s going to have to go get the snipers. Allous told them to turn off their comms, and they both did,” he says.

“Where _is_ Allous?” Shepard asks.

“Damned if I know,” the turian says. “Here are the last known locations of the snipers. Do you need someone to come with you?”

“EDI? Vega?” Shepard asks.

“We’ll take one, you take the other?” Vega asks.

Shepard shrugs. “Sure.”

“One more thing,” the turian says. “There’s a massive sandstorm coming in off the desert to the west. If you’re not back by two hours after dawn, you’re going to have to go to ground until it’s blown through.”

“Quick and speedy,” Shepard says.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here there be turians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA and I thought YESTERDAY's chapter was out of hand. Um... there's some light smut here??? I wasn't expecting it, but all right, we'll roll with it.

Six hours later, Shepard is standing alone on a cliff edge overlooking a river valley, a clear view of the desert to the west. The far horizon is a wall of silvery-buff, the sandstorm. This is the last known location of her sniper, and the sun’s going down. It would have been too easy for him to be here, of course. So she scans the area for any turian lifesigns, and finds one, faint, much farther along the ridge than she’d been hoping for. She sighs and sets off toward it.

Palaven’s nights are brighter than Earth’s. Menae and Nanus are both bigger and closer than Luna, and reflect Trebia’s light to nearly half-daylight levels. Menae is full and Nanus is a waxing quarter moon, and the twin lights cast eerie shadows across the ridge she’s trudging down. The sandstorm is growing closer, and it filters through her helmet’s external microphone as a faint high whistling noise. The walk becomes hypnotic and she nearly trips over him, catching herself on a higher outcropping of rock.

“Shit!” she shrieks.

He jumps back as well, clearly not expecting to be trod on in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.

“What the hell?” he shouts at the same time, leveling a pistol at her.

“Well, shit,” she says.

“How the hell did you sneak up on me?” he says.

“I wasn’t even being sneaky!” she says.

“What’s a human doing here, anyway?” he asks.

“Evac mission, Primarch’s orders,” she says. “And the sandstorm’s going to beat us if you don’t come with me right now.”

He looks over into the desert. “Sandstorm’s going to beat us anyway. There’s an abandoned house a few hundred meters back that way. We’ll have to wait there.”

Shepard goes to radio the basecamp, but all she gets is static.

“Comms are down,” she says.

“Of course they are. A shuttle would be too easy,” he says, putting the pistol in a hip holster, and picking up his sniper rifle. “Let’s go before the sand gets here, it’s closer than it looks.” Sure enough a few particles of dust skid gratingly across the faceplate of her helmet.

The door to the house is jammed, but the butt of her shotgun loosens it enough to force the door open. The inside is dusty, having been abandoned for the better part of a year from the looks of it. The sniper quickly moves through the house, coming back to report it clear.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to avail myself of their shower,” he says.

“Of course,” Shepard says.

“The storm should keep the marauders away, but there’s spare ammo in that cabinet,” he says, pointing. He then goes into another room and she hears the distinctive thumps of armor being shed.

She releases the seals on her own helmet, the house doesn’t register as any significant level of radiation, and places it on the table. Well, it looks like a table. Turian furniture is utterly foreign to her human eyes. A scan of the room reveals nothing particularly useful, but her stomach growls in protestation, she hasn’t eaten since this morning. She’s got three Alliance MREs in a pouch on the side of her armor. As she goes to unload them, she catches sight of the sniper rifle leaned against the door. It’s a standard issue Widow from the looks of it, but something makes her pick it up and turn it over.

The scope is _not_ standard issue. In fact, she knows exactly where it came from. Special request on the Citadel a month after the Reapers hit Earth. A “welcome back to the Normandy use this to save my ass” gift. Putting it down gently, she goes to investigate the pile of armor on the floor in the next room, its blue, black, and silver colors evident in the artificial lights of the house. The sudden hissing of sand against the closed windows of the house make her look up. The storm’s here, apparently. She puts the helmet down, and reaches for the pistol that had so recently been pointed at her.

Not just _a_ pistol, _her_ pistol. Her beloved Paladin.

She puts it between her teeth, goes into the room with a couch, and shucks her own armor, peeling the sleeves of the jumpsuit off and pulling the top half down to her waist, then tying the sleeves together. She shoves the pistol into a built-in thigh holster, and goes into the kitchen, MRE in hand.

It’s supposedly macaroni and cheese, but only mildly resembles that food as she pours it out into a pan. A quick search of the kitchen reveals mostly spoiled food, but there are a few dried ingredients that look like they could be cobbled into a meal for a turian. She dumps them into a pan too. There is, blessedly, a large bottle of garum, which should make anything palatable.

The shower shuts off, and thumps coming from the general direction of the bathroom indicate he’s gotten out.

She stirs the two pans with separate spoons, then piles the MRE in a bowl and whatever it is she made out of the scavenged food on a plate. They go on the table in the middle of the kitchen, and she searches through the drawers for utensils. She’s interrupted by a loud growl from the direction of the bathroom.

“Did you take my pistol?” he asks.

“I did,” she replies, now wondering how long it’s going to take for him to figure it out.

She finds the utensils in a cabinet that’s over her head, silently cursing the seven-foot tall aliens; she climbs onto the counter and finds something that resembles a fork.

“Give it back,” he says, subharmonics rumbling dangerously. Evidently he’s closer now, but with her back to the door into the room, she can’t tell.

“No,” she says, grabbing one of each of the other utensils. She turns on her heel and drops off the counter, bare feet making a faint slapping noise on the metal floor. “It’s my gun anyway.”

His mandibles are slack with shock as she turns to face him.

“Shepard?” he says, almost too low to hear.

“Hello, Garrus,” she says, putting the handful of utensils down on the table.

“You…” he starts.

She comes up to him and puts a hand on the side of his face, tugging his head down to hers.

“I’m real,” she says.

“Apparently,” he replies. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Oh, you’re going to have a field day with that,” Shepard says. “But first, you have to eat whatever that is.”

He looks over at the table. “Should I be afraid?”

“Probably,” Shepard says cheerfully. “My cooking only gave people food poisoning once!”

Garrus huffs, the turian equivalent of a wry chuckle, and picks up one of the utensils. He cautiously tastes the food on the plate, then takes another bite. “Not bad. Incredibly salty, but not bad.”

Shepard beams. “Savor the good mood while you can. I’ve got something to show you.”

“Should I be afraid?” he asks, finally sitting down at one of the chairs. It’s impossible for her to sit in, so she stands and begins to shovel the macaroni into her face.

“That depends, what’s your opinion of Commandant Allous?” she asks around a mouthful.

Garrus makes a face.

“Good, then you’re going to _love_ this,” she says, putting down the bowl and spinning her omnitool to life. She brings up the holorecording of Allous’ comments a month ago, and presses play.

_“What do you want?” he barks._

_“To know why Garrus Vakarian hasn’t contacted me in the past three months,” Shepard replies just as harshly._

_“That’s none of your damn business,” Allous says._

_“I’d beg to differ,” Shepard replies, gritting her teeth._

_Allous rolls his eyes, giving the classic let’s indulge the silly human look. “I decided it would be best for him if he was solely focused on the mission at hand and not worrying over whether you might or might not be recovering. I don’t need my soldiers distracted, Commander. Now, if you don’t mind, I have actual work to do.”_

Garrus’ mandibles slacken again and he drops his utensil.

“I’m going to kill him,” he growls.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Shepard replies.

“Don’t you want to?” Garrus asks.

“He doesn’t deserve it. I was trying to come up with some way to permanently damage him,” Shepard says.

“You’re right, he doesn’t deserve it,” Garrus says after a moment of silence. “But I think I know exactly how to respond.” With this, his smile turns feral and his eyes glint predatorily. It’s not that often that Shepard’s reminded that turians were the apex predators of Palaven not just because of their brains but also because they’re space raptors.

“Victus wants a vid,” she says, resuming her mac and cheese consumption.

Garrus laughs out loud at that. “Of course he does.”

Shepard shrugs.

“So you’re not dead,” Garrus says.

“Not quite,” Shepard says.

“How are you still alive?” he asks.

“Cybernetics and sheer force of will, according to Tali,” Shepard says. “I spent five weeks in a coma, and another three in the hospital before synthetics came back online. And then I ran away.”

“Synthetics came back online?” Garrus asks.

“Why do you think your omnitool works?” Shepard asks.

“Allous said… Well we can obviously believe him. Then… EDI? The geth?” he asks.

“Both fine, for the most part. The quarians took the geth back to Rannoch. Lovely planet,” Shepard says.

“Is it?” Garrus asks.

“I spent most of the last three months there,” Shepard says.

“Why?” Garrus asks.

“Earth’s a mess, and Tali’s been…” Shepard trails off.

Garrus cocks his head. “Tali’s been?”

“Do you remember the conversation we had a few nights before the geth dreadnought?” Shepard asks.

“Vividly,” Garrus replies. “If one or both of us survived the war, we’d find out if Tali really _has_ been staring at our asses for the last three years.”

“She has,” Shepard replies, suddenly feeling anxiety knot in her stomach.

Garrus is silent for a long moment, then, “Does she try to build things in bed?”

“She keeps her shotgun under it,” Shepard says.

“Of course she does,” Garrus says. “I take it you told her we had that conversation.”

“I did. And she… responded by making out with me,” Shepard says.

“Damn,” Garrus mutters. “That’s an image.”

Shepard raises an eyebrow, “You don’t even know what she looks like under the helmet.”

“Oh, like you never imagined,” Garrus says.

“Turians aren’t exactly known for their imaginations,” Shepard shoots back.

“Well then I guess I’ll just have to wait until I can see it in real life then,” Garrus replies.

Shepard’s stomach swoops at that. “I guess you will,” she replies lamely.

“Until then…” he says, voice dropping into a register she’s… _intimately_ familiar with. He pulls her into his lap, still sitting on the strange chair-like furniture at the kitchen table.

He draws a talon down her nose, making her twitch as it tickles. She sticks her tongue out at him, and he pokes that too.

It seems only then that he notices the massive damage to her abdomen.

“Spirits, Shepard,” he says.

“Having a space station fall on you will do that to a person,” Shepard says.

“How bad was it?” he asks.

“Most of my ribs were broken,” she says. “I’m not entirely certain where those three came from, but this,” she holds up her right forearm, “is a prosthetic, and so’s my right eye.”

He says nothing, just lightly tracing the scars. Then, “Anything else I should know about?”

“This rib is still cracked,” she says, poking the bruise just under the band of her bra.

“Guess I just won’t bite there,” he says.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Who said anything about biting?”

He falters for a moment, “You… don’t…”

“Ack, no. I’m just being an ass,” Shepard says quickly.

“Six months is a long time to think you’re dead,” he says quietly.

“Was it worse than the first two years?” Shepard asks, running her own hands up under his fringe, to the back of his neck where the skin is almost as soft as hers. His subharmonics purr at this, and he answers.

“I was only half in love with you the first two years.”

“Really?” Shepard asks.

“Well if you can count hero worship as being in love,” he says. “The real thing is much better.”

“I’m going to have to agree with you on that one,” she says.

He buries his fingers in her hair, “It’s so short.”

“Burned or cut off,” she says. “I’m growing it back out.”

He makes a non-committal hum, “I must profess a love for it long.”

“You and Tali both,” she says. “It’s a good thing I agree with you.”

He thumbs over the bite scar at the point where her neck meets her shoulder. She tilts her head the opposite way, and he leans forward to nibble gently at it. It feels like a homecoming.

Suddenly the mood shifts, and she’s desperate, clawing at his underarmor, the only thing he had put back on after the shower. The alien clasps are still familiar to her muscle memory, and she has the top half undone before he’s even had a chance to slide his talons under the elastic band of the compression bra she wears under her armor. He pulls it over her head and the elastic sends it across the room to land drunkenly on the stove, but neither of them pay it any mind.

When they’d come back together on the Normandy after Menae, he’d confessed that he found the concept of human breasts unnerving, but something (copious amounts of sex, if Shepard were a betting woman, which, well, she was) had changed his mind. So he took one in each hand, brushing a finger across the thin skin of the underside and sending shivers up her spine.

A few moments later, somehow both sets of underarmor had been dislodged and she found herself kneeling over his slender waist on the floor. It always surprised her how narrow he was under all the armor, more like a bird than most humans suspected, een the ones who called turians “space raptors”.

He grips her hips firmly and says, “Anywhere else I shouldn’t grab besides the rib?”

“Cleared for full combat duty,” she replies breathlessly.

“Good,” he says, and flips their positions, padding her left side with his hand.

His arousal is obvious, and she takes it in hand, squeezing more firmly than she would on a human, but less than he liked. He ruts his hips into her hand and makes a helpless noise low in his throat. She smirks. He quickly wipes it off her face by returning the favor, and when she whimpers in return, he brings the shining digit up to his mouth, licking it clean.

“Inside,” she finally gasps out.

He plants a hand on either side of her head and presses his forehead to hers as he slowly sinks inside. The stretch is more than she’s had in half a year, her own hand the only other thing to go near that general area, so they have to take it slow. Finally, he bottoms out and she sighs, a knot of emotions balling under her sternum.

She nods and he starts to move, so slowly. The rasp of his plated chest against her bare one registers in the back of her mind, and it doesn’t surprise her that he grabs a towel from the floor and drapes it between them to prevent chafing.

He snaps his hips forward, and the force of it rocks her entire body. He’s so incredibly strong, and she forgets that most of the time because he’s so careful around her. The ball of emotions begins to unravel, and her eyes start to sting with the beginnings of tears.

Garrus flips them over again so she’s sitting in his lap, and she wraps her arms up around his neck, under his cowl. He’s doing all the heavy lifting, quite literally. She tucks her head in next to his, folds her hands together and holds on for dear life.

Her orgasm takes her by surprise, and with it, the ball of emotions unravels into relief, love, a touch of anger, and _exhaustion_. Her entire body wracks on a sob. Garrus comes a moment later, pulling her in even closer to his chest. It’s only then that he notices she’s crying.

“Shepard?” he asks, worry coloring his voice. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Shepard sniffs, “It’s been a long time.”

He strokes her hair awkwardly; turians don’t cry.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she says softly after she finally gets the sobs under control.

“I’m here now,” he says. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” she says, finally leaning back. Her face is sweat-and-tear streaked, hair plastered to her face, and she definitely needs a shower, but all she wants to do is sleep. “Because neither am I.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on my (Marvel/Captain America) [Tumblr](http://fireflyslove.tumblr.com).


End file.
